


Cherry Wine

by radioactivemouse



Series: short and sweet yogs scenes [3]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Fluff, I don’t know how to tag this, M/M, Not RPF, POV Second Person, Sleepy Cuddles, i tagged strife but he doesn’t actually do anything he’s asleep for the entire thing, mentions of blood magic but nothing graphic, parv stops doing blood magic and runs off into the woods w strife, post-blood and chaos, this is just about 800 words of parv being gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25263028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioactivemouse/pseuds/radioactivemouse
Summary: The way she shows me I'm hers and she is mineOpen hand or closed fist would be fineThe blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.Parvis thinks about Strife, blood magic, and healing.
Relationships: Alex Parvis/William Strife
Series: short and sweet yogs scenes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723771
Kudos: 8





	Cherry Wine

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry this is so short!! i honestly just needed something to post and figured id throw this out there instead of letting it sit in my notes forever.  
> you can find me @lalnaisms on tumblr if you’re interested in reading all my parvill lore that i hurl into the void

You never get over how _small_ Strife seems when he’s sleeping.  


Short stature aside, Strife has a way of making himself seem bigger, takes up as much space as he pleases to preserve the illusion that he can be nothing but selfish, to be sure that he is seen. Better to bare your teeth to everyone, _don’t touch me or I’ll bite,_ than to be seen as easy prey.  


It’s a side you see less of these days. It’s nice, unwinding him like this, feeling him settle next to you on the couch after an afternoon in the garden, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing his cheek as he makes breakfast, holding him close as the both of you drift to sleep.  


Strife curls in close and snores softly against your chest as the steady rise and fall of his breathing washes over you. In _one, two, three._ Out _one, two, three._ You’re not the worrier that Strife is but sometimes, when you scare yourself into thinking this can’t last or you get the itching feeling in your veins that the magic’s woven itself into you so deeply that you’ll never get it out, it’s nice to have a reminder of what is now, what is real, that you are safe here and Strife is too.  


You press a kiss into his hair and tuck his head back under your chin as your eyes flutter shut.  


Strife is small when he’s sleeping. He’s unguarded here, in rare form, no front to put up and nobody to impress. Or at least, nobody he needs to _try_ to impress. You aren’t the type to be awed by his machines more often than not, you know science is something that Strife loves even if trying to wrap your head around it gives you headaches, but that aside there’s always been something strangely dazzling about him, something that makes you never get tired of looking at him, something that makes the room light up when he’s talking about something he loves, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it. You’ve only recently realized that that something was the massive crush you have on the guy.  


Strife is a steady pressure against your chest and warm to the touch under your hands. It’s one of the many things you love about him, and about this place- it’s warm here. Your home is small and warm and a welcome contrast to your now ruined castle, where ice ran through your veins and left you shivering for months on end. You’ve had enough empty rooms and wide open space for a lifetime. You aren’t sad to see the place go.  


You don’t like thinking about the castle at all, really. Brings up too many memories of everything you want to leave behind, of over-bleeding into your alter so much you almost passed out, (And you did, more than a few times. Strife always made sure to give you a talking to afterwards.) just to feel it’s magic wash over you, just for a moment, a flash of warmth to chase away the cold of strangers blood in your veins, a rush of power that left you hungry. The altar _always_ left you hungry.  


It’s never enough, is it? No matter how much you try to distract yourself, no matter how many dungeons you raid to remind yourself how _powerful_ you can be, to convince yourself that this is all worth it, it’s never _enough._  


_In one, two, three_. Out _one, two, three._  


You are not that person anymore. Or at the very least, you try not to be.  


You hold the man who pulled you out of hell in your arms and swear to yourself that nothing is going to take this from you. And more than that, you swear that you won’t destroy this for yourself, it won’t wither and die like everything else you touch. You’ve built a life on blood, on killing and maiming and destroying everything in your path, but Strife offered you something new, something calm and steady and for all his talk of selfishness he has been so, so kind to you. You have a home with a garden and a cat and a weird demon puppy (Steven is the one thing you let yourself hold onto when your altar had to go. He’d done more to keep you sane when Strife couldn’t be around and the castle was too quiet than you’re willing to admit, and he doesn’t deserve to be left behind, even if he came from something terrible.) and you get to hold the man you love as you go to sleep and know he will be there when you wake up.  


And slowly, surely, you drift into a sleep without nightmares.


End file.
